


With or Without Control

by Cave_of_the_mounds



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Desperation, F/M, Hints of Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-31
Updated: 2017-10-31
Packaged: 2019-01-27 09:07:47
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 538
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12578380
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cave_of_the_mounds/pseuds/Cave_of_the_mounds
Summary: A Demon!Dean drabble series inspired by the song With or Without Control by Sahara Hotnights. Reader's thoughts are italicized.It will be angsty and smutty. Future parts will be added at my leisure, there is no set posting date.Also written to fulfill the Desperation Square for SPNKinkBingo





	With or Without Control

Twice already, the mistake had been made. He was lonely - he was ready to change, and both times you’d been suckered in; ready to bring him back, to accept him, to heal him.

Both times you’d been fooled. No. Fooled is a cop-out. You fell victim to your own wishful thinking and the charm in his words, damning yourself the whole way home for being so stupid - for letting the facade convince you.

Sure, the outside was your Dean, but inside? Inside he was suffocating black smoke and colorless eyes. He was selfish, and hostile, and careless, and -

*bzzt bzzt*

Speak of the devil.

No. It wouldn’t happen this time. This time, you’d remember the ways he’d hurt you, the ways he’d manipulated you.  _Not. This. Time._

**‘Call me’**

‘No.’

**‘Why not?’**

‘Because you’re a dick.’

 **‘...’**   _Here it comes_.  **‘I need you’**

‘No you don’t’

**‘I want you’**

‘No you don’t’  _Damn him._  ‘I’m sure you’re just fine with the company you have’

**‘But I want you’**

_He wants me. He’s seeking me out. That’s gotta mean something, right?_

‘Why?’

**‘Because I know you. Tell Sam you’re visiting a friend. I’ll give you cash for gas, you have no excuses. Just come here.’**

You pretend to think about it for a while, but you both know you will drive those long hours to see him. The anticipation makes your stomach weak and shaky, makes your skin burn hot and sweat cling to your shirt as you make your way out. It’s easy to get away, to tell Sam you need a break. He’s so angry-focused on tracking down Dean that he seems to barely acknowledge you.

You watch the bunker grow small in the rearview, partly out of guilt and mostly to make sure Sam doesn’t follow you, but all you see is the dust flying up from your wheels. You’re off.

_Where does he find these places?_

You walk into the dingy bar, stained by years of cigarette smoke and sweaty, humid air.

 _Fuck._  The nerves crank up to eleven when you see him saunter from the pool table over to the bar. It’s Dean, but it’s not. It’s like Russian Roulette, and your stomach churns as you worry over which version you might end up getting - the man or the demon. But you’re desperate enough to play. Even if it’s just for something - a taste, a morsel, a hint of the Dean you knew.

He looks at you, illuminated by the faint light through the windows and colored by the tacky neon of the bar, and licks his lips. It’s such a Dean thing. That almost exaggerated, but still so natural way he slicks them up with the tip of his tongue. It’s obscene and makes you clench everything.

“Dean,” you whisper on a sigh, saving your voice because you know you’ll need it later. And just like that, all your reasons for avoiding him, this place - they all disappear, because he’s so close, and just like that, you need him again like you need air.  _My Dean. It’s him._  Even with a demon inside. 

/You've got a hold on me/  
/You're messing up the screen/  
/Thought it was a good idea/  
/Dealing with the enemy/


End file.
